


Beyond The Darkness

by cowpoke69



Series: Do Not Seek Absolution [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Canon Compliant, Circa 1885, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, No Spoilers, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpoke69/pseuds/cowpoke69
Summary: A collection of stories set before the events of RDR2.He throws the man’s unconscious body on the ground just like he would with the carcass of a deer. It hits the dirt with a dull sound and the man whimpers, now half awake. Two days. It took him two days to find him in that Saloon and to bring him back to camp. The sun is high in the sky and it hurts his tired eyes and his heart is aching so much that he’d rather rip it off his own chest with his bare hands instead of enduring the pain for another minute. It’s silent. Too silent. The thought of Hosea burying Dutch while he was away scares him.





	Beyond The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> hey there, welcome if you're new to this series, welcome back to the others xx. lots of uwus.

He throws the man’s unconscious body on the ground just like he would with the carcass of a deer. It hits the dirt with a dull sound and the man whimpers, now half awake. Two days. It took him two days to find him in that Saloon and bring him back to camp. The sun is high in the sky and it hurts his tired eyes and his heart is aching so much that he’d rather rip it off his own chest with his bare hands instead of enduring the pain for another minute. It’s silent. Too silent. The thought of Hosea burying Dutch while he was away scares him. The man lying at his feet is now blurting out a bunch of inaudible threats aimed at him and at the whole world, it seems. 

Arthur wonders what it will take to shut him up for good. He kicks him in the ribs and the man lets out a loud growl – like a wild animal. He tied him up good and his left hand has stopped bleeding but it’s clearly getting infected by the look of it. Arthur grabs him by his feet and drags him near a tree before forcing him to sit, his back against the trunk. And there’s no doubt about it, he’ll die from the infection. That is if Hosea doesn’t get to him first. Arthur crouches next to him. Ties him to the tree with a few good knots, making sure he won’t be able to escape even though he won’t go far away with that fever.

“Whatcha gonna do to me kid? You look like you’re ‘bout to pass out. Scared? ‘S that your first time hurting someone? Cute,” the man’s voice is weak but his tone still aggressive. 

“It’s not up to me asshole. But if you’ve moved even one inch when I come back, I’ll cut your fucking legs off.”

Arthur doesn’t pay attention to the bunch of insults he gets from that but he still has half a mind of cutting his tongue as well. He walks towards Dutch’s tent instinctively. If Dutch is still alive from that wound, Hosea will be by his side. And if he’s dead, Hosea will be mourning him and thinking about it makes him sick. Arthur recalls those times he found Hosea asleep in Dutch’s bed while Dutch was away with his beloved Annabelle. The way Hosea would be nice to her when she was around camp. Always the gentleman. Kissing the back of her hand and bringing her warm coffee in the morning, when she was sitting by the fire. Her favorite spot in the winter.

He thinks of the look on Hosea’s face when Dutch first introduced her to them. And how Hosea – the best con man he’d ever seen in his entire life – was at a loss for words. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something much more complex. Something that Arthur was never really able to understand. Or maybe something he didn’t need to fully understand. And it’s a similar feeling that hits him when he enters Dutch’s tent and finds him lying on his cot, Hosea by his side. He looks at Dutch’s pale face, Hosea’s blond hair which looks closer to white now that he thinks about it, and their entwined fingers. And he knows. It’s not just a feeling. Not an idea. It’s as real as the moon and the sun and the rising and falling of the sea.

Hosea doesn’t immediately move. His head is resting on Dutch’s bare chest. His free hand is holding on to his gun, and Arthur wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He’s always ready, no matter what’s going on in his mind and in his heart. He approaches Dutch’s cot and Hosea finally opens his eyes. He looks so much older than he actually is. He notices Arthur and nods at him. Tries to give him a faint smile but fails – glances back at Dutch, and Arthur realizes that he’s looking at an entirely different version of Hosea. One he once hoped he’d never see again. 

“He okay?” Arthur asks in a hushed tone.

“I don’t know.” Hosea stands up, puts his gun back in his holster. All the while, his other hand is still holding onto Dutch’s. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent seven years with him and,” Hosea’s voice breaks, “I’ve rarely seen him like this.”

“He’ll be okay, just needs some rest. Besides, he’s got us. He’s got you, Hosea.”

“If he dies, it will break…” Hosea starts.

And Arthur knows better than to let him finish his sentence. “He won’t. Hosea. He won’t die on us.”

Sadness flashes on his mentor’s features and Arthur walks towards him and hugs him as fast as he can. It’s a strong embrace. Maybe too strong, but it’s the only way he knows how to show him that he’s not alone. He doesn’t care if he breaks his bones. And by the way Hosea lets out half a sob into his shoulder, he doesn’t mind either. And Arthur is reminded of the last time he felt the urge to comfort him like this. The last time he felt his breath against the skin of his neck. The last time he heard him cry. The last time Hosea was brokenhearted.

━━━━━━━━

It was five summers ago. They had been sleeping all over the state. Going from their permanent camp to hotels. And from civilization to the wilderness. Amidst all of that, Arthur had fallen in love with a girl named Mary. It was the kind of summer that was going well. Extremely well. Too well for it to last. They were back at camp for a few days at a time in order to bring food and money to the rest of the gang. They had finally embraced the idea of being a gang. Hosea thought it was about time that they had finally stopped pretending to be something other than a bunch of outlaws. Dutch still had a hard time getting used to it. And Arthur thought it didn’t really matter what they called themselves because they’d always be a family, no matter what.

He and Hosea were lying on a patch of dead grass, in the middle of a field not too far from their camp. One of the Callander brothers was on guard duty, whistling an odd tune, hidden by the trees. Hosea was trying to teach him about the constellations but Arthur’s mind was focused on his lover and he didn’t pay attention to what he was saying. He didn’t hear the screams coming from the camp. Didn’t hear Hosea say his name until he had to hit him on the shoulder, putting an end to his fantasies. And while they were running back towards camp, ignoring the branches cutting through their shirts and the skin on their faces, they heard it.

It was something between a scream and a lament. And Arthur’s blood left his veins and he wasn’t sure he could feel his legs anymore. And when they reached the campfire, and saw Dutch kneeling on the ground, crying over a body, he knew. Arthur felt the warmth leave his body. Leave the earth. Leave the entire universe. He was paralyzed. Incapable of moving or even thinking straight. And no one dared to approach Dutch. No one except Hosea.

He was the one holding onto Dutch when they had to move Annabelle’s body at dawn. He was the one bringing food to Dutch when he refused to leave his tent. He was the one spending his nights trying to comfort him. Arthur felt useless, but he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to ease Dutch’s pain. Only Hosea had this power. And Arthur had always looked up to him, worshipped him even. Until the day Hosea lost that fine layer separating him from the other mortals and Arthur was there to witness it. He was sitting on a damp tree stump, trying to focus on a book, still tired from the night’s watch. Colm O’Driscoll and his boys had killed Annabelle. They had killed her in cold blood. They had killed her in the name of vengeance. And the thought enraged him.

“How do you like it so far, son?” Hosea’s voice had sounded so dreamy.

“I don’t care much about that girl. Alice.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t understand why she had to follow that white rabbit. Who would do that? Who would follow someone just like that. For the sake of curiosity.” And while he had said it out loud, Arthur realized that he had once been Alice. 

“You know. Sometimes, we do things that don’t really make sense in the moment. Until it does.” Hosea had sounded so different. So tired. So sad. Heartbroken.

Arthur had looked up at him. At his blond hair and his handsome features. And then he had looked at his eyes and the sadness that seemed to pour out of them. And Arthur’s world felt dull for the entire time he stayed there, looking at him, taking it all in. Unable to give him a reply. Unable to process it. Hosea was his savior, his father, his guiding star. And suddenly the light in his eyes was gone and the way he looked at him terrified him. And when he finally found the strength to stand up, he did nothing else. He just stood there, looking at Hosea. Scared of his own thoughts, of his own self, of the way he would break the fragility of the moment if he dared to open his mouth. But the simplicity of the action seemed to mean everything to Hosea. 

And the protégé found himself pulled into his mentor’s arms. In all that confusion, he had not immediately hugged him back. And to Arthur, it seemed like Hosea was carrying the whole world on his shoulders, up until this point. Hosea cried in silence for what felt like hours. Arthur vividly remembers remaining silent, too overwhelmed by Hosea’s sorrow. He had let him cry for a while, intently focused on the way his breath felt against his skin. All humid and unsteady. And after a few minutes, he had reached out to him with his free hand, the other one still holding onto the book. And on that day he learned that if anything irreversible ever happened to Dutch, Hosea’s heart wouldn’t be able to survive the shock. 

━━━━━━━━

Arthur doesn’t look. But the boy does. Eyes focused on the scene, on the blood, on the way Hosea hits the man in the jaw with the sole of his boot. Mesmerized by the violence. He’s young, too young. And Arthur looks at him, wondering if he’s already seen it all. His hair’s dirty, his clothes are ripped for the most part, but the look on his eyes is what stands out to him. Dark and warm at the same time. Full of something Arthur had already lost when Dutch and Hosea found him. And when the man stars pleading, those same eyes seem to turn another shade. 

“I have a wife, Sir. Please. She’s with a child. I swear to God; you’ll never see me again. Please. Don’t.”

The boy lets out a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “He’s lying.”

“Please, don’t listen to him. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know shit. Sir. Please.”

Hosea doesn’t seem to care. Arthur hears the familiar click of a hammer being pulled back on a gun. And John smiles at the man, no teeth, all hate. That’s when he notices the bruises around the boy’s neck. Red turning into blue, blue turning into purple, purple turning into black. And suddenly, the man’s pleading doesn’t mean anything to him. He put a bullet into Dutch. He almost took Hosea’s partner from him. And Arthur turns around, now facing the scene. And he looks. Hosea’s fury is all out. The soil at his feet is soaked in blood. Just like his pants and his boots and the left corner of his mouth. However, his knuckles remain immaculate. He wouldn’t touch that man even with a stick.

“I’m a good man, I have a family. I…,” the man attempts. 

“I’ll give you one last chance to say your prayers.” Hosea’s tone is plain, cold.

The man spits out blood. “I’ll pray for ya. I’ll pray that you die miserably and alone. I’m a good man. And you – you’re nothing. In this country, we kill men like you to protect our people, our family.”

“He’s a fucking liar! He don’t have no family. He don’t even have a dog. You tried to do things to me, you fucker! You tried…”, John’s voice breaks and Arthur grabs him before he can get to that man, wishing he could put a bullet in his skull and be over with it already. 

“Shut the fuck up, you son of a whore! I’ll fuck you up! I’ll rip you…”

And Hosea does put an end to it. The bullet hits the man right between the lungs. And Arthur’s wish is granted. He watches as the life leaves his body. Watches as he tries to fight for air, before losing, miserably. And the boy does the exact same thing. Arthur lets go of him, gives him some space. Enough for him to get on his knees and start crying and laughing at the same time. Hosea stares at Arthur, puts his gun back into his holster for the second time today, and Arthur understands that sometimes, violence is very sweet.

“Burn him,” Hosea commands, and then he’s kneeling next to the boy, patting his back in a circular motion. “You’ll be okay, boy.”

━━━━━━━━

She’s standing behind the counter. Eliza. A lump is forming in his throat. And he feels like he’s nineteen all over again. And he could leave, she hasn’t spotted him yet. He could turn around and go back where he came from. And when Hosea asks him for the hundredth time where his father’s hat is, he could come up with another lie. But he walks towards her. Pulled forward by something he doesn’t understand. The place is crowded. He runs into a man, excuses himself, doesn’t stop looking at her, not even once. And he tries as hard as he can to repress the constant fighting that’s been going on in his mind for too long. 

He finds an empty spot between two drunk men at the bar. His palms are sweaty when he takes his thumbs out of his gun belt. It’s been two weeks. And he wishes it was just the two of them, again. But the place is full of people singing and drinking. And he has half a mind of drawing out his revolver to fire a shot aimed at the ceiling. It would get peaceful and maybe he’d be able to hear the beating of his own heart. When she finally notices him, he actually does. And the whole world seems to fade away. And it morphs into an ocean of her, her, her. For miles on end, it’s just her. And he does nothing to stop himself from falling deeper and deeper into that ocean. 

“You want something?”, her voice is barely audible.

He awkwardly replies. “What?”

“I said, do you fancy a drink, Sir?”

He snorts. Hell. It’s just too late. He’s past the point of pretending that he’s here just to get his hat back. When she looks at him, he actually feels seen. It’s different from when Hosea or Dutch or even Mary look at him. Her gaze tells him what he needs to know. And it comforts him so. She will never ask him to be different. She will never see him as someone greater than who he actually is. She will never assume that he is a good or a bad person. She doesn’t need to know. She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t even know his name yet. And it’s all fine. 

“Same as last time.” 

“You planning on staying a bit more tonight?” She pours him a drink, the whisky tastes even better than last time. He knows it’s cheap, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Depends. Do you want me to stay around?” He feels bold. The liquor isn’t even fully in his system yet.

“I bet you know the answer.” 

 

And later that night, when she’s moaning his name and he slows down to look at her flushed cheeks, and the way her hair lays flat against the pillow – forming a halo around her head – he knows the answer all right.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, means a lot to me. leave a comment or a kudo or nothing. feel free to do what pleases you. lots of uwus.


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